Don't Get Lost In Heaven
by Hey Lady Hey
Summary: In between Phase 1&2, Russel seeks to get rid of Del, who's long overstayed his welcome. The reaper is waiting.
1. Bus

_Got off the plane to the country sound,  
I drove to the mountain and a hole in the ground  
There was crack on the corner and someone dead,  
and fire coming out of the monkey's head_

_Don't get lost in heaven  
They got locks on the gate  
Don't go over the edge  
you'll make a big mistake_

_Put me in a cab to suburbia  
I just took a line but it wasn't with you  
There was more of it there, when I got back home  
But you had left me,you don't know my soul...  
You're a hoe girl  
Yeah you're a hobo_

_Aaaah..._

Don't Get Lost in Heaven

Chapter 1: Bus

PG-13

Summary: Part 1 of 4 chapters. In the middle of phase 1 and 2, Russel seeks to rid himself of Del, who has long overstayed his due. The reaper is waiting- and Russ can feel it.

* * *

Russel bleakly noted that the bus had arrived, his white eyes glazed over. They were two huge, white orbs, unfocused and shining with fatigue. If people say that the soul can be seen through the eyes, one would see a weary, weary soul in Russel Hobbs, the drummer of the band Gorillaz.

Not anymore, at least. Gorillaz had parted their ways- Noodle to Japan, Murdoc went to Mexico, 2-D to his uncle, and Russel... here. He had just stayed in LA, after the movie production had fallen apart. He didn't have the heart, really, to go back to New York or to Kong or anywhere, really. These days, Russel felt like he didn't have much of anything short of hallucinations and scattered thoughts.

He picked his heavy body off the bench, the old thing creaking softly from the sudden loss of weight. With each step towards the bus, Russel felt his body draining of energy. With a grunt, the man placed tokens into the dish before taking a seat in the back, his hands on his knees and the top of his head resting against the seat in front of him. He mumbled something softly to himself, words that weren't his own that spewed from his lips.

"R-r-r-russel, daawg, we can get throoough this." He sounded like a broken record, skipping over certain words. "Through through through-"

"Shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up..." Russel growled back, his voice a little louder then the first one that had spoken through him. The bus driver looked back at him through the mirror, and was met with a inhuman growl. He smartly continued to drive.

"Russssss," Russel couldn't stop himself. The words poured out, escaping his mouth even though he tried to repress them. His energy sapped with each moment he barred the ghost inside him , and with a grunt he let Del continue talking.

"Russs, we can g-g-get over this."

"Shut the fuck up, Del. We both know the Reaper is at your door- _our_ door. You need to go. It's time. It's time."

Russel felt the spirit rage, protesting his words. Of course not, he could feel the ghost say, the reaper is not here. How long have we been through together? We can make it, Russel. And Russel nearly laughed, because Del's words used to calm him, that when he felt that odd scratching against his mind, when he said it was nothing but his imagination he was content. That ghost was his buddy, his home boy, that guy you swore you'd know 'til the day you died.

Or he died. But even then, death dosen't always cut off the links.

When Russel saw his stop, he pulled on the cord above, and the Greyhound screached to a halt. Only when he was walking halfway down the block did he realize he was mumbling, over and over to himself:

"It's time. It's time. It's time."

* * *

The shootout happened quite a long time ago. After that haunting day of the shootout, when all his friends were killed, he had a total of ten spirits living in his head. Scruff and Vernon were the first two to leave. They said that, 'It was time', something like that- Russel couldn't remember. Another left soon after that. Karl disapeered suddenly, and only when he had awoken in a damp sweat, still tired, did he realize that durning his sleep someone must have left his body. Three more left, quietly, just simply fading out in a way that made Russel feel quite mortal. Taeqwon fought for awhile to stay. He needed to, 'Help his dawg, yo, 'cuz if that Murdoc tries to mess you up, well, shiiit, what the hell am I gonna say back home when they heard yous got beaten by a damn fag.'. (Nevermind that home was in his body, and in remembrance, Russel almost always remembered that bit.) But he eventually left, leaving him just a little bit emptier. Jamie and Rodney, the two twins, left after nearly a week of silence. They seemed to just move, silent, a queer act for the usually noisy twins. And they said 'Bye', and were _gone_.

"Del?" The twins had left the day before the whole band, frazzled and feeling annoyed, gave up on the movie. Russel felt sick to his stomach. The whole band now was bickering, over where they should go, should they start a new album... He felt his insides twist. All he wanted to do was set his mind straight.

He felt Del tear most of himself away from him, leaving only a small thread of ghost stuff- a life preserver, if you will- still attached to Russel. It wasn't a physical, seeable thing, but if you squinted and had the right eyes you could see a light blue mist trail from Russel's head. The blue ghost hovered above him, scratching the back of his head. His dreads swung in a nonexistant breeze. He seemed to be a lighter blue, with even more of his teeth fallen out.

"Yo, Russ man, how's it goin'?" Del asked, giving him a cheerful smile. Russel scowled, his arms crossed and pressed tight against his cheast.

"It's no time t' talk like everything's all-fucking-right. The twins left..." His arms closed tighter around himself, and he shivered. Del looked at the man sympathetically.

"Aw, maan, I know. I'm sorry. Some... ghosts.." The spirit struggled to find words. This had happened before- almost like an unwritten rule, ghosts and things that haunt could not give too much information about the dead. Whether there was something that inhibited the spirits from saying certain things, or maybe just a unified agreement not to mess up Russ anymore then he already was, nothing major ever came from them. "Some ghosts, well... they stop wantin' to stay. Not like Rodney and Jame wanted to leave you, jus' that they had too."

Russel sighed, pacing the hotel room that the band had rented. He shared one with the young, japanese-speaking Noodle, making sure she got what she needed. Murdoc and 2-D had their own rooms. Del sat on Noodle's bed, idly squeazing a Poke'mon toy until it's eyes threatened to burst out of it. The quiet lasted a few minutes, until finally, the spirit spoke up.

"Russ, man, so I guess... iss jus' you an' me."

"Why ain't you gone too?" Russel burst out, disregarding his question. Del gave him a queer look, putting Noodle's toy down before walking back over to Russel.

"You want me too, man? 'Cuz I can. Hell, I could've gone that day a bullet went through my cheast- jus' up to heaven, shit, or hell..." That wry smile so common for him crossed his face. "Y'know, we're never told, if we go to Hell or Heaven or not?"

Russel shrugged, grunting a bit. "No, no, I dinnit... Del? Stay on track. You never answered it. I don't want you gone. I jus' wanna know why you not with everyone else-"

"'Cause I'm not, alright? Fuck, Russel, aren't you just glad that I'm not gone?"

Russel tried to pat the spirit on the shoulder, but his hand went through him. Blue skin fizzled like a TV screen. "Hey, man, calm down. You know, you're my dawg. My home boy!"

Both of them laughed at that, though Del rather faintly. He was getting tired. He needed to be back in Russ's head soon.

"I'll kill the god damn Reaper if you ever have to go, Del. So don't sweat it. We'll make it through."

Del gave him a small smile, before returning to the drummer's head. He blinked a few times, his body readjusting to the other spirit, who was moving around and making himself comfortable once more.

_'Thanks, Russ. Always together, righ'?'_

Scritch scritch scritch. Russel felt something scratch in his mind. And it wasn't Del. It was something more...

"Yea, Del. Always."

* * *

Author's Note: I remember when I first heard the title of the song, 'Don't Get Lost in Heaven', I first thought of Russel and Del. How crushed he must be, losing his best pal, y'know? So I made this little fic, split into four parts, of Russ's exorcism and stuff. TOUCHING! Anyway, if you're looking for funky ghost Russel sex, THIS ISN'T THE STORY FOR IT. Naw, just touching friendship-ness. Please Rate and Review, even if you're not a member of by clicking the little button below, or emailing me at moosaysthecow -at- comcast . net

Notice: Nothing belongs to me. I do not claim any character, plotline, anything.


	2. The Street Life

Don't Get Lost in Heaven

Chapter 2: The Street life

PG-13 (Language and violence)

Summary: Russel is on the streets, and there's nothing quite harder then the life of a bum. He finally stumbles into a sanctuary of sorts...

* * *

It was in his dreams when he talked to his spirits.

There were unlike what people usually think of as dreams. It wasn't as much as a dream, it was more like he had gotten absorbed into himself, so he was in his head like Del. And if you have ever been absorbed into yourself, it's the oddest thing that can ever happen.

When you are in yourself, it's like walking through everything you've ever wanted, everything you've ever avoided. One could lie and say it is beyond your wildest fantasies, beyond your imagination- but you are in your imagination. Different and yet oddly comforting, this place sporting everything that is you present, past, and future. You are in yourself.

Russel once again found himself in his mind, just seconds after falling asleep.

The air smelled of sweet, clean wind, and it brushed against his skin. Grass was felt beneath his feet, and he took a tentative step forward, watching his feet fall into a steady pace of walking. It was soft and damp beneath his feet, dark green against the dark chocolate color of him. Step, step. He looked up at the sky. It was abnormally cloudy, looking too dark for such a nice day. He scratched the back of his head, looking forward just in time to feel the frigid burst of cold wind his face.

Russel cried out in surprise, reeling back as the air around him dropped suddenly. The sky crackled with lightning, and a burst of thunder quickly followed.

From behind a rock that he hadn't noticed before, Del crept from, looking around wildly. All of his teeth accept a few fallen out, and his makeup had smeared on his face, as if someone had tried to reach into his eye sockets and miss.

"Russel! Help me! He's after-"

A dark thing was coming, a mass of writhing pain and agony. It held empty eyes, an empty face. This was death. As it's rotten face looked towards Russel, it changed.

BANG! It was a car, filled with kids with guns.

BANG! It was the night his mom nearly had a heart attack, seeing her only son stumble downstairs in a delirious fit, his eyes white.

BANG! Del's corpse was in his arms, as he watched the police blankly, who were trying to explain that he needed to move...

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"Let him go... he's mine, he's _mine_." Death rasped, stalking towards Russel.

"I'm not holdin' him back! I'm not!"

"_Yes you are!"_

BANG!

"H-hey, no bums 'loud on the door stoops, y'here? So, ahem," The shoe that was poking into Russel's side stopped. He blinked his eyes groggily, and the policeman nearly jumped as the white eyes gaze up at him. "Uh, hmm, yeah, get on now."

"'M not holdin' him... He can go." Russel muttered to himself, stumbling off the doorstep as he trudged on to find a new sleeping ground.

* * *

The fire spat nastily in the oilcan as it was fed an assortment of damp, wet sticks and other things. It gave off a smell akin to garbage; but that was what was being thrown into it. Anything that could keep the fire going was thrown in. Something needed to warm the bums on the cold nights. 

The dirty man grunted, a bundle of clothes in a plastic bag at his feet and a large stick in his hands. He poked the fire gently, and embers shot up, to which he waved at them. He dug into the pocket of his long coat, pulling out a half-eaten apple from earlier and munching voraciously on it. The wind picked up, and the fire spit more embers as it flared up.

A foreboding figure with ghastly white eyes were seen for that split second, then died away as the flames fell low once more.

The bum gave a surprised look out into the darkness, before rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand clutching the apple. Had he really seen that? It reminded him of what the others had told him when he had bothered to share a fire, about a heavy-set man with white eyes haunting the city, mostly the more ghetto areas, where he was shot trying to save his mom...

He poked the fire nervously, finishing his apple quickly and tossing the core into the fire. It spat embers back, and a large hand suddenly caught one. The bum screamed, a hideous shrieking as he brandished his stick and swung it forward, in an overhead arc.

It was caught, and twisted violently away. He screamed again, his eyes wild before running in a full-on sprint the other way, not bothering to pick up his little bag of filthy clothes.

Russel quickly walked up to the fire as soon as the other was gone; shivering, as he stood close enough to the barrel it looked like he was going to climb in. He swore to himself as he nearly stepped onto the bum's bag of clothes, and with disgust kicked it away. He watched the flames for a while, letting his mind float away for what seemed like a few minutes...

His eyes came into focus again as a growl to close to his ears snapped the life back into him. He stumbled backwards, right into a man.

"Fuck, whut you doin', takin' my fire pit?"

Russel was hit promptly in the back of his skull with a stick, crying out in more surprise then anything else. His head started to pound as he felt Del inside his head, scrambling about. _'Fuck, fuck, who wuz that, Russ? B-b-beat his ass,' _Both Russel and Del hissed at the same time in pain as the stick rapped him against the head again.

"You, fat ass, get th' hell way!"

Del screamed in frustration, and Russel screamed with him as his head pounded. He fell to his knees as the bum hit him over the head again. "I said, you mother fuckin' little n-"

A sudden strength snapped through him, and Russel lurched up, pushing the stick and frail, dirty bum away with one large swipe of his hand. He managed to stand up, stamping forward as the bum tried to scramble up in time so he could flee once more. He leaned forward sharply, snatching the man at the neck and hauling him upward. The grimy man cried out, swinging around futilely as he squeezed. And squeezed.

Something hard hit him in the small of his back. He grunted, turning his head around and meeting a large piece of plank into the face.

Russel's hand loosened, and the wheezing bum dropped to the ground. His mind reeled, sticky blood dripping down his face from a broken nose. He reeled backwards, as another equally dirty man with a chest-length beard whacked the back of his knees hard with a small metal pipe. The resounding crack made the drummer gasp and he fell forward on his knees. He squirmed, struggling to get up as his head pounded, his legs wobbling. One of the two that had joined in on the fray grin, letting out a wheezing laugh before striking Russel's head in an upward arc.

Del screamed as everything went black.

* * *

"Hey, hey, yous awake?" 

Russel groaned rolling over on the bed. His eyes opened, and he looked around blearily. The memories of last night flooded him, and he bolted upright. A strong hand pushed him back down.

"Easy, fella. A cop found you getting beaten on by a bunch of damn hoboes. If he hadn't gotten there sooner, you'd be dead." The man, a young doctor, patted his shoulder. Russel groaned.

"Hey, jus' askin', but you weren't drinking, right? 'Cause you seemed pretty awake through everything, but it seemed odd, with all of the stuttering and the whole-hearted trying to escape, mumbling something about needing to help your brother named Russel..."

Russel pulled at his legs, noticing that restraints held him down. He groaned again. His head hurt. The doctor placed a hand on his head, and pain blossomed like flowers on a spring morning. He gasped and gave another zombie-like groan.

"Just take a rest. You'll be let out later, once we make sure that those bums didn't do anything other then a few scars."

By then, Russel was out again.

* * *

Russel Hobbs never usually said he spoke to spirits, 'in his dreams', because usually fake clairvoyants said that, or loonies who were in asylums. He couldn't say he spoke to them in 'visions', either, because then he'd sound like Madame See-All at the local hand reading parlor. And speaking about how, yes, his spirits could come out of his head and you could see them, well... 

So, Russel Hobbs never talked to anyone about his spirits. Except for confessions. The Catholic confession booths were an exception. It was a code, of course, amongst priests that whatever comes into that booth, stays in the booth, may it be a killer talking about how many he's raped or a kid stuttering about he and his friend 'experimented'. Even if you were rambling, the priest would give you their message from god and listen dutifully. It was a wonderful sanctuary.

It was like a box, a large wooden enclosure. One side for the priest, the other for the talker. Russel managed to slip in without anyone seeing, and he settled himself on the bench. He leaned his head back until it touched the wall, and with a sigh, closed his eyes. He needed sleep...

The screen that separated the two sections of the box was suddenly pulled back. Russel cracked open one eye as the thin face of a man was seen slightly through the whicker screen.

"Hello son."

"Mmm... hello?" Russel was tired, but he would talk with the man. They would probably throw him out if they realized he was trying to catch a nap in here.

"How many days has it been since your last confession?"

"Uhh..." Thinking hurt. He rubbed his head, looking at the ceiling of the confessional. "Years? Yeah, years..."

The priest paused, before continuing, "And how have you sinned, my son?"

Heavy silence filled the box as he thought, dazed and tired, on the other's words. His eyelids felt heavy, and he woke from a light doze a few seconds later as the priest asked, clearing his throat, "How have you sin-"

" 'M holdin' back the dead."

"Excuse me?"

"My buddy. My brother. Del. He's dead, y'know? And in my mind," He noticed that there was what looked like a scythe in the wood patterns, and a monkey in the one next to it. "An' he won't go on. He's stickin' aroun', an' refuses to go. Don' know why. Told 'im t'go."

Russel leaned forward, nearly pressing his face against the screen. The form behind it pulled back. "An' he won't, and he's in pain... I want him t'go on." He growled the last word, his breath coming out in heavy gasps.

"My son, God would advise you that... if this is true, that you try your best to forget about it. Spirits are not to be dealt-"

"No! NO! Fuck that, I can't forget 'bout him! He's here, an' he's not goin' nowhere 'cause of me." He snarled savagely, pressing his hands against either side of the screen, scratching at the wood.

"Calm- calm down, please," The voice was very weak and nervous through the screen. "What I meant was, spirits are usually in God's domain to choose what to do with. He is the one who shows them to the gates of Heaven, and He is the one who takes them when they're ready."

"I... I can't forget 'bout him. He's gotta go on, an'... if not," He curled his hands into a fist as a wave of dizziness swept over him. "It's over. For th' both of us, an', an'.. we're _damned_."

Russel felt his eyes roll into the back of his head as the priest let out a sound of surprise, before jumping out of his side of the confessional and entering his. He felt his body grow heavy, fainting as he heard the priest mumble:

"May god bless this man..."


	3. The Ghost of Past and Present

Don't Get Lost In Heaven

Chapter 3: The Ghost of Past and Present

PG-13 (language, blood)

Summary: The past of Del and Russel.

Author's Pre-Note: The only OC I'm including in this story is a necessary. He's technically not an OC, since Russ's biography did say Del was exorcised, and so I guess it must be a priest. SO THERE.

---------

Del had a normally healthy childhood for one growing up in the hood. The ghetto. Whatever the hell you call the cesspool of where most crack addicts or lazy bums collected their checks and lived off of food stamps.

He was one of the families that truthfully needed to be there. With his grandparents, parents, and five brothers and sisters, there was not enough money to feed everyone and even have a one-room apartment. With both his mother and father working two jobs, and his aging grandparents who were bound to chair or hobbling on a cane, he had no real parental figure other then his older brother. But early on, he had gotten into a gang, and ran off when he was only eight, probably to join the reaper as he smoked and sniffed whatever things he could find.

He was the third child, perfectly in the middle. He was a bit stubborn, dramatic and outspoken, with an odd fascination with clowns and rap music.

It was at school when he met Russel. Russel was always the chubby kid, getting picked on because of his weight, how he liked smelly pigs, his height for his age, how he was a pushover... a gentle giant, but gentle giants are not always met with equally gentle people.

Russel cried out as a kid shoved him hard. He stumbled before falling backwards on his backside, a cloud of dust rising around him. Kids all around the playground were watching him; some openly encouraging the bully while others peeked over monkey bars, curious but afraid.

"Huh, huh, huh, when yous fell, yous nearly knocked me ovah, fattie! Ain't that right?" The kid, with a pug like nose and a very slow, dimwitted laugh elbowed his friend, who was standing next to him, absently staring at the sky and picking his nose at the same time. (It was the most he ever done at once in his life.) The kid sprung to life, pointing a finger at sniffling Russel and laughing like a hyena. "Huh, huh, huh, I see that I aammmm right. Ain't that right, fattie? Piggy? OINK OINK!" For some reason, the kid was waving his arms around like a chicken, simultaneously snorting like a pig.

Del thought he was stupid. What was he, chicken-pig-bully-I-AM-MEAN man?

Russel was nearly in tears, and he wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "I... I..." And he gave a long, snot-filled sniff.

"Fatty crying, huh huh huh, don't drown me in your river of big FAT tears! Huh huh-"

The nose picking, sky-watching kid winced as he felt something wet fleck his cheek. He smeared the booger on his finger into his shirt before touching the liquid, holding it up to his face so he could get a better look at it. It was red. Blood... blood!

Nose-picking kid started screaming, running off in the other direction as Del extended his hand to the awed Russel. Russel took it, and with a bit of effort they got him up.

"Um... um, yous just punched him, square shot in th' nose!" Russel exclaimed, hardly able to keep the excitement and awe from his face as he watched the bully roll dramatically on the floor, crying and screaming bloody murder.

Del wiped his hands on his dirty black shorts, smiling a toothy grin. A few baby teeth had fallen out recently, creating odd gaps in his mouth. He dusted his t-shirt off, sighing and posing slightly. "Well," He stated dramatically, "It's just what I _do_. Like Batman. I save people, with my fists!" He gave a flimsy punch at the air, and Russel laughed.

"Well, thanks, uh, um..."

The little boy squinted at Russel, pulling his hat down farther over his dreads.

"Del. Mah name's Del."

"An', um, I'm Russel!"

Del and Russel high-fived. "Sweet, sweet. So, you like pigs, righ' Russ?"

"DEL, I SWEAR, YOU CAN'T PUNCH PEOPLE! YOU'RE LIKE A MONKEY, ALWAYS HAVE TO WATCH YOU!" The teacher shrieked, stamping over to him.

Russel sighed. "Pigs, an' not gettin' in trouble..."

--

The next day, Del biked over to Russel's house. It was right outside of 'the ghetto', only a measly block. But they were the fanciest buildings Del had ever seen any of his friends living in, two nice big stories with pools in the back and nice yards done by gardeners in the front. The baseball card in the bike's wheels made it sound like he was on a motorcycle; and he fantasized about being a tough guy, with his own motorcycle and leather jacket speeding down the highway with all of his cycling buddies at his side. He'd have to remember to ask Russel if he liked motorcycles...

Del stopped at the house Russel was supposed to live at, a smaller house but a nice one at that. He left the bike in the front yard, running up to the yellow house and ringing the doorbell.

BRNNNG

BRRRNNNG

BRRRRRRRNNNG

The door opened suddenly, and Del's finger flew off the button of the doorbell like it was on fire. He stared, wide-eyed, at the very large and tall man beside him. He rubbed his bald held, grunting.

"Excuse me? Are you trying to sell something?"

Del blinked, swallowing thickly. No words could come out of his mouth. Finally, he spoke: "R-russel, yous... you grew pretty big, y'know, over the weekend!"

The large man let out a booming laugh, patting Del's shoulder heavily, which nearly sank from the heavy weight. "Oh, I'm not Russel! I'm his dad! Here, here, come inside, take your shoes off before you run up into his room."

Del was lead inside by the man, and he diligently took his shoes off, and even dusted off his clothes. They were hand-me-downs. A faded, light blue shirt of a blank-eyed monkey and a pair of shorts that were once white but had taken on a gray-brown tinge. Around his head was a headband, a bright red with white vertical stripes going down it.

He looked up as he saw Russel bound down the carpeted stairs, two at a time. Unlike him, he wore a new-looking t-shirt with a smiley face on it, and a pair of blue baggy jeans.

"Hey, Del, guess what? We can go outside, I gots a fort back there."

Del's eyes widened. "Then let's go!"

They played the rest of the day in Russel's fort, a mini tree house that was on the ground since there weren't any good trees in the backyard. Mostly, they'd play superhero, where'd they climb around and pretend they were saving the world from evil bush-villains for the vile worm henchmen. Del also taught Russel how to protect himself that day: how to fight back, mentally and physically.

"Remember, think like you're a superhero. I'm Del- The Funky Homo-e-sap-i-and. You, Russ, can be... uhh..." Del scratched his head, thinking. Russel kicked a bush, pretending it was one of the numerous bullies who taunted him.

"How 'bout just Russ?"

Del nodded, smiling. "Tha' works, that works. Now, show me some punches! Hyyah!" He grunted, punching the air. Russel quickly copied, and they laughed together the rest of the day, until Russel's mother, a very frail and short woman, called the two of them to dinner. Dirty but still full of energy, they washed their hands, (Only after Russ reminded Del, who looked rabidly at the table) and sat down.

It was a simple mac 'n cheese with stewed tomatoes and a salad on the side. The two ate ravenously, only talking when they needed something passed. It was when Del was working through his second helping of Mrs. Hobbs's wonderful apple pie before Russel spoke up, a bit nervously.

"Hey, Del?"

"Mmmuh-huh, Wuss?" He said, nearly spitting out his apple pie. Del swallowed, grinning. "Yeah?"

"You wanna sleep over?" He then looked at his mom and dad, who were at the other end of the table, talking quietly amongst themselves. "Can he?" Mr. Hobbs laughed, and Del watched with fascination as his cup of milk reenacted that scene from Jurassic Park.

"Of course, let your buddy sleep over."

"We're just glad you've found a friend, Russel dear," His mother said, smiling. She then looked at Del, "You may come over anytime."

Del grinned. "Thanks, Mrs. Hobbs!"

---------

The game they played, upstairs in Russel's pig decorated room, was what Del called 'farmer'. They'd take the stuffed pigs, and pretend they were real, giving them food, taking them on routine walks, brushing them with Mrs. Hobbs hairbrush, and even giving the lady pigs some fake eyelashes they also scavenged from her room. This, of course, was what Del was sure that pig farmers did, and Russel didn't disagree with his intelligent reasoning.

"Uhhh... uhhhn, I'll name this one-" Russel picked up a smaller stuffed pig, which was blue and fuzzy. "Eh, um... Noodle! 'Cause, we ate noodle's tonight, an' that's what he likes to eat."

Del was absentmindedly trying to adjust his bandana on his own pig, a more original pink variety, so that he was as good looking as him.

"I'm gonna name him Hog."

"Huh? Why?"

" 'Cause hogs are like, the tough version of pigs. An' he's _tough_."

Russel suddenly stood up, running over to his closet. Del watched him as he disappeared inside it. There was the sound of rummaging, and finally Russel came out with a disposable camera.

"Let's take a picture!"

Del stood up, grabbing Hog and tying his bandana tighter around his forehead as Russel grabbed Noodle. He tucked her under his arm, placing his left arm around Del's shoulder as he held Hog in front of him. "Ready..." He stretched his hand out, tilting the camera a bit until he was sure it was straight. "1, 2, 3... cheese!"

Russel and Del smiled at the same time the camera flashed. One of Noodle's fake eyelashes fell to the floor. They both burst out laughing, and dropping the camera they continued to play until finally Mrs. Hobbs made them go to sleep.

-----------

The next year, Russel was sent to this pretty little private school, up a ways from his old one. It was posh and prim and proper, where the kids walked in lines with their backs straight and uniforms neat.

The first day was hell. It was second grade, so most kids had established their lives around others, had already been through countless play dates and sleepovers and knew their friends phone numbers more easily then they knew their own. Everyone knew everyone except _him_. He walked into school, out of breath, his hair in a mess and his shirt crumpled and a bit stained from a breakfast of pop tarts.

The next week, he punched a kid right in the jaw for making fun of him, and that was his end of playing with Del.

Eventually, Russel conformed to that prim and proper air that the school demanded. He didn't fight it. He was too young to really rebel against anything other then his bedtime, and he liked when his parents praised him for not acting like, 'that little boy who had turned him a bit sour'. He was young. He was still changing.

Adults loved him. He was quiet but still curious, and he was polite as anything. He became smart, and his tongue served as what the jobs of his fist used to do, as he said in a dark, quiet voice things that made any person who dared torment him to slink away.

And then he was possessed.

Russel remembered it clearly, when his dog died after being hit by a car and his parents were kind enough to let him take off the day to grieve for his departed pooch. He cried for a while, before wandering his house, desperate to get his mind away from it all.

It was such a simple action, to look into a mirror. But his eyes widened, and his breath sucked sharply in as his soul itself jerked and splintered. Russel was, soul-wise, a very sensitive person. Death made him more so, and bad spirits such as this demon took advantage of the wounded sensitive.

He was in a coma for four years, and finally awoke to the sound of his parents weeping and another voice mumbling. He only learned later that a priest had performed a taboo, extensive exorcism to get rid of the demon. He was never to talk of it, and really never felt the need to ask about it. It was swept under the bed, and he fumbled to continue his young life, now in high school.

Russel's parents sent him to a public high school, now that he was expelled from the private one because of circumstances 'that he shouldn't worry his little head over', which what he took for as the coma, the demon, and the exorcism. Grumbling a bit, but walking in with head held high, he went to public high school. Immediately, his soft fists started to hard up a bit, and the tongue that had lolled in his blank head came back to life. At first it was extremely frustrating, naturally polite while the whole of the school was a mass of rude bastards. A couple were just plain mean, while the others liked to pick on the new kids, giving them book checks so their things spilled in overcrowded hallways, tripping them up, and breaking open lockers. But he got used to it. He searched his brain and his past, where he faintly remembered a wide-headed kid teaching him how to punch and stand up for himself.

It was when his parents finally convinced the principal that yes, despite being expelled, he was a smart boy and at least should be promoted to Algebra, (where all he was doing was playing games on his TI-84 calculator and deciding how many curse words he could spell in numbers,) where he met Del. Re-met, to be exact. It was a queer, awkward meeting, to say the least.

"Hey, you, aren't you that kid who I used to know back in first grade? The one that liked pigs?"

Russel looked up from his scribbling at the kid, same age as him, with his hair and long dreads and a few teeth missing that sat right across from him. He grinned.

"Yeah, yeah. I am." He hadn't told anyone about his little pig obsession since he punched that little brat back in second grade for making snorting noises. "An'-" He narrowed his eyes, trying to appear gruff. "What does it matter to you?"

"'Cause you-" He poked Russel with the end of his pencil. "Are Russ. And I'm," he jabbed the pencil into his chest. "Del," his voice lowered. "The funky homosapien, if you remember."

Click. Their friendship- forgotten embers- suddenly leapt into fire from that light puff of air.

Their teacher, Mrs.Farquhanson, was giving them the evil eye. But Russel leaned forward, grinning like anything. "I thought it was 'homo-e-sap-ian'."

They both got detention for disturbing the class when they burst out into peals of laughter.

-----------

Del fingered the old picture of the two of them, careful only to touch the fading, light brown edges. The picture had held up remarkably well since when it was taken in first grade, still crystal clear after nearly 10 years. Two little kids, one with a wide head, missing teeth, and his dreads in a mess. He was holding a large blue stuffed pig. The other was of rounder built, with an arm around his buddy, his bright pink pig tucked under his arm. He traced a finger over the blue pig. He had that pig, now. 'Hog'. During his eighth birthday, which nobody even remembered except Russ, that was his one and only gift. He grinned, his smile missing some of the teeth that were in the picture. Like in first grade, he still got into fights.

Del suddenly felt someone's heavy breathing puffing right behind him. He jerked his head around, and both Russel's and Del's skulls collided. "Oh, fuck, Russel... that hurts!" He yelled, recoiling in pain.

Russel grunted, continuing to breath heavily. His He leaned forward, his hands on his knees. "Damn, man, just seeing what you were staring at." He mumbled, his chest heaving.

Del looked blankly at Russ. "Mile run that hard? Took you nearly ten damn minutes." The mile run, of course, was something any kid in public schools in America had to participate in. You had to get a certain time to get a dinky little award, which often wasn't that hard to get if you lightly jogged. His time had been 3 minutes and 51 seconds, and he had been fifth in the overall thing, even though teachers urged them not to compete- it was just a 'fitness' test, and it didn't matter. Of course, who the hell listened to teachers? The boys competed, while most of the girls disregarded the time and walked together in groups, chatting.

Russel got a 9 minute, 30 seconds score. Most middle school girls ran faster.

He shoved at Del, who nearly fell through the bleachers. The photo fell from his pocket, and Russel snatched it from the air quickly, looking at it. He cradled it gently, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Fuck, that was a long time ago, wasn't it?" He asked, regaining his breath. He sat down next to Del, who scooted over to make room.

"Mm-hmm. 'Bout nine years..." Del affirmed, snatching it back and tucking it in the pocket of his gym pants. They were the ugliest uniforms either of them had set their eyes on, a bumblebee color with yellow shirts and black shorts.

Russel scratched the back of his head. "Uhh, so why did you bring it in school? I mean.. you carry that around?" He suddenly asked.

Del blushed a bit. "Fuck, you think I'm a girl? No, no, jus' felt... mmm, y'know, I felt I... should?" He shrugged. "Whatever. C'mon, bell's gonna ring soon. I don't want to be late, Mrs. Farquahanson's class is already hard enough, missin' a class is damn suicide." He added, standing up quickly.

Russel jumped up. "Fine, yeah, let's go."

--------------------

Del jammed the tape into the player. It was plain looking, with a piece of tape on it labeled with blue marker,'Del's Funky Rap & Shit'. Almost immediately, the music pounded through the stereos. It was obviously amateur rapping, but it was damn _good_. And even though the MC wasn't worth shit, the rapper filled in the gaps, the skips in the record that was played, with his talent.

Russel climbed in the seat next to him. His finger made a move for the 'eject' button, but it was quickly swatted away as Del revved the old car up. It was an old, fire-truck red jeep, with no doors or windows. It was stripped down enough to only the seats and the tape player. The key twisted roughly, and the car gave a wet coughing noise. He tried again, and this time the car made the same noise again, before sputtering into start. He grabbed the volume, turning it up as loud as possible before tilting his hat down.

He _floored _it, and the car screeched into living, speeding off. Russel gripped the tearing leather of the seat, leaning back as the words boomed through his head. He grinded his teeth together as they took a sharp turn, and then swerved to avoid a tree. "Fuck, Del!" He yelled over the music, his eyes going wide as he watched the speedometer climb.

Del seemed peachy, his head bobbing in tune with the music and his eyes on the road. "We're gonna be late if I don't go fast." He yelled, grinning like the fool he was. "An' this car is shit anyway, don't matter really if anything happens to it."

"I wasn't thinkin' 'bout the damn car, more like," They took a sharp turn, and he felt his stomach drop. "Whut would happen if we crash into a building, how my damn body's gonna feel afterwards."

"Aw, you'd make a hole in the wall."

He gave him a dirty glare. His body lurched forward suddenly, snapping against the seatbelt as the car slowed down from 100 miles per hour to a mere 30. He made a queer noise, since all the air had emptied from his lungs, between a yelp and a cough. Gently pulling his face off of the dashboard, Russel sat up back in his seat, looking over at Del, whom's head nodded to the beat.

"What... the fuck... was that for!" He gasped, gripping his pained chest.

Del pointed ahead. "See?" There was a car up ahead; a very plain gray Pontiac parked in the 'Dunkin' Donuts' parking lot. A person sat inside, eating what Russel guess was a donut.

"What? Some guy eatin' a donut?" He asked, squinting at the car.

"Cop. Swear. You can jus' tell, see, by his car."

"An' how's that, you stupid fool?"

Del stopped the car as the light turned red. They were close enough now to see that the man was in uniform. "That car's as dirty as fuck except for the ring shape on th' top, where the siren goes. Now shut your trap, we need to get over to Karl's place before we're even later."

-------------

When Del pulled the car into Karl's driveway, Russ gave a weary glance as he stepped out. He would never get used to this- the hood, the ghetto. This was the place most of his friends lived, in shoddy houses where the paint peeled and the carpets housed swarms of insects. It was disgusting, and it was frightening, to say the least. People would deal drugs across the street, or prostitute openly on the corners. Shooting would occur every other day, and the place was so bad, the cops didn't go in without at least four cars.

His mother had thought that he had gone with Del to the music store that wasn't too far from their house. It was the half-truth, because they had stopped by there to pick up some new records, before heading out to a place both his parents would murder him for if he actually was caught going there.

Karl came outside, followed by Taeqwon, and then the rest of them. There were eleven of them in all.

Greetings were exchanged; back slapping, hand gestures, friendly punching. (Though only Taeqwon had the balls to punch Russel, which ended up with Taeqwon gaining a bruise and him apologizing profusely.)

"Shit, so..." Taeqwon rubbed his arm sorely. "Are we gonna get going?"

Russel crossed his arms, "Sure, I guess." They had all planned to go to a rap session that was being hosted nearby. Everyone had been entered into it except him, who would watch the show and be the driver.

Del gave Russel a hard pat on the back, putting a brotherly arm around his neck, and Russ gave a small smile. "Yeah, shit, c'mon everyone, load your fat asses into the car 'fore we're late!" He yelled, his hands cupping around his mouth. A noise of screeching tires was made behind him, and he turned around, a puzzled look on his face.

_Kids with guns,_

_Kids with guns_

_Taking over_

_They wont be long_

_They_ _mesmerized, skeletons_

Russel would never forget their faces. They were blank things, with empty for eyes and dark for smiles. The car was dull; a baby blue Crown Victoria from his parents' time, with the windows down and their leering faces peering out.

Empty. Empty skeletons, holding death in their hands. They laughed in a drunken, hollow way, taunting the mortals before them. They were nothing but the transporter of death's wings, but they felt empowered by this thing; they were immortal. By just a snap death would fly, straight and true to pierce flesh and heart.

Russel watched blankly, his dark brown eyes slowing down the world before him. The car, which was in reality going around 30 miles at least, slowed to a crawl. The guns poked out of the window, bright and shining, with dark faces grinning and reveling in the power they held. The first one shot. Then the second. Then the third. And soon, they were all shooting as much as they could, laughing as they desperately tried to eliminate their problems and aches by sending death on eleven helpless kids.

Scruff was the first to go. He hadn't turned around yet, and never got to, a bullet going straight through his head. His body swerved, and he fell in a broken heap.

Vernon's eyes widened before a bullet entered his shoulder. He screamed in pain, falling down into another bullet that clipped his temple and would kill him in the end.

Russel, the only fast one in this slowed world, watched them both fall for a long time as four more people, in turn, were peppered by bullets. Del had moved away from Russel, and in slow motion he watched as Del pushed them both to the ground. He was perplexed to find something in those eyes; mortal fear, wild and primal, not for just him but both of them. He hit the ground, hard.

"FUCK! FUCK, YOU MOTHER FUCKERS!" Taeqwon screamed. He dived down into a roll, pulling out a gun of his own and shooting wildly at the car. Bang, bang, bang. One man inside the car screamed. "YOU GOD DAMNED NIGGERS, MOTHERFUCKING CUNTS!" He screamed as many nasty names one could ever come up with, finally choking up with held back tears. His gun ran out of bullets, and he threw it desperately at the car. He didn't notice the one bullet that lodged into his shoulder, until two more hit him in the chest.

'Cause they're turning us into monsters 

_Turning us into fire_

_Turning us into monsters_

_It's all desire_

_It's all desire_

_It's all desire_

Russel stood suddenly, scrambling away from the bullet-hole in Del's leg, his face twisted in pain. Why wasn't he getting hit? Why wasn't he dying?

Jamie and Rodney were hit, together, trying to protect each other.

The car was almost gone. Del tried to sit up, struggling to pull down Russel again.

His eyes widened when the bullet went through his chest, shattering bone and lodging into his right lung.

--------------

The policeman sighed, flipping through his papers. He tucked a pencil behind his ear, his tongue sticking out as he counted the bodies. Just a few blocks away from the Dunkin' Donuts he had been eating at, a drive-by shooting occurred. It was random, according to the only survivor, a young man with white contacts on who refused to remove himself from a fellow with dreads. He was still sitting there, absently staring at the body and babbling about pigs and other things to the corpse.

"How many, Greenly?"

"Nine…" He answered. The man next to his, an FBI agent, slapped the man in the head.

"OW! Fuck, wait, there's ten…"

The FBI Agent Smecker sighed, pulling his gloves on. He walked over to the street, where a lone gun sat, battered. He picked it up gingerly, before inspecting it for bullets. There were none. He walked back over to Greenly. "What's the kid's name?" He asked softly, taking his gloves off.

"Russel Hobbs."

Smecker smoothed down his blonde hair, straightened his tie, and walked towards the young man, making sure to avoid stepping on the bodies. It was a tragedy, seeing all these young kids with bullet holes in there bodies.

"Russel?" The kid looked up, his wide eyes white. For a second, he believed they weren't contacts; then he reasoned with himself. He knelt next to Russ, who held Del closer to his chest. Del has already lost the color to his face. The only thing that held color was the bright red of bullet holes.

"I need you to let go of him, kid, I know-"

"'Mm sorry, I can't. Del says… he wants me to keep his body away from you guys, so you wont cut it up." He replied blankly, looking down at Del's corpse as if he was talking to him. "An' he doesn't want to look like a carved turkey…"

Smecker sighed, placing a hand on Russel. "Kid, I… Del's gone. I'm really sorry; but-" He gently tried to pull the large teen away. "You have to let him go." The coroner had to come in and analyze everything.

Russel started screaming, and screaming, and didn't stop until someone managed to knock him out.

---------------

Russel awoke roughly, his eyes wide and his mouth open in a soundless scream. His back arched in pain and his toes curled. Tendrils of darkness licked his vision, making evil shapes in his mind's eye. He closed his eyes tight, wishing everything away; he could feel his mind breaking, his sanity creasing...

A damp cloth graced against his forehead, and a warm weight pressed him down against the bed. "Shh, shh, quiet now. Rest yourself. You took a nasty lil' tumble..." A voice whispered softly in his ear. He was suddenly snapped back to reality, his muscles loosening and his chest heaved from the stress. Russ's eyes weakly flickered open, and he saw the face of the priest that had talked to him through the partition of the confessional.

He was thin and mousy, with unkempt light brown hair that stuck against his frail face. He had small, watering light blue eyes and long eyelashes. Freckles dotted his face, and he gave a small smile to Russel. He was dressed in priests' robes, and a rosary dangled from around his neck.

"Nnngh... where...?"

"You're in the back of the church. Where the priests sleep." He said softly, making sure the cloth was draped across Russel's forehead before standing. He walked over to a side table, where a tray was waiting. He picked it up, balancing the glass of water and sandwich on it precariously. It was set down on the floor next to Russ's cot, and the priest watched with a small smile as he immediately snatched the food and drink, devouring it with speed.

As Russel ate, both of them were quiet. The drummer was thinking, wondering why the hell a priest of all men would take him in and even believe his story enough to pity him. Or maybe the man thought he was just a loony, and was soon going to send him off to an asylum where he'd rot away.

The priest waited, simply staring at the floor and fingering his rosary as Russ finished his food.

"What's your name? And why are you helping me?" He asked quietly, blinking the tired out of his white eyes. The frail priest looked up at him, letting the rosary fall against his chest.

"My name is Father Tulane, and..." His eyes closed slightly, wrinkles creasing his face. He was staring at Russel, spaced out and somewhere far away in the depths of his mind. It took him a few quiet, uncomfortable moments before he continued, "And I'm helping you because I'm going to save you."

Russel's eyebrows knitted together, and he gripped the side of the cot in frustration. Had he not been exhausted from lack of sleep, lack of energy, and plain lack of _life_, he might had just stormed out right now after snapping the small man in two. "Don't give me that god damned bullshit. What's this for? -"

"You're name is Russ... Russel Hobbes." The priest rushed in, his face flushing red as he rudely interrupted the angry man. "You have a someone named Del residing in your body and he's trying to stay with you. And you're trying to stay with him."

Russel was floored. But the priest hadn't finished yet.

"I can..." He exhaled slowly, fumbling with the rosary around his neck again. "Exorcise him, for you. So he can go on. I know that you two both don't want it, but," His voice turned to a low mumble. Russel's white eyes slowly widened.

That mumble.

"You..." And he was out, cold, falling back into darkness as his heavy bed thumped against the cot.

-----------

Author's Note: THANK YOU FOR READING! Please criticize me. BRING ON THE FLAMES, BABY, I'M FIRE PROOF! Anyhow, the end of the story is almost near. This part was sad, wasn't it? I tried to make it pretty sad...Also, I take total fault if anything about Del is wrong. 'Cause I don't think anyone knows about his past. So I made it nice and happy 'til his brains got blown out. Writers can take certain rights, y'know... I'm thinking this story might go on to five chapters. Then, I'll do another story about the whole band.

YES, I know this was a veeery long chapter. But it was good, wasn't it? (I hope...o.o)

Oh, and DEAR RUSSEL:

Sorry you're always getting knocked out. xD


	4. Losing Myself

Don't Get Lost In Heaven

Chapter 4: Losing Myself

PG-13 (language, blood)

Summary: The exorcism of Del. Part 4 of 4. EXTRA LONG! 0

----------------------------------

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

As most of you guys know, the Gorillaz biography, Rise of the Ogre, has come out. It's a fabulous book, go get it, it's a fricken _beast_ of a book, with tons of art and a lot of comedy and stuff. And it delves into all of those little nooks and crannies of the Gorillaz fandom, including that god damn stupid thirsty ghost and a certain big man's relationship with death.

That book is why you're reading this.

I'm never going to finish this fanfiction. I'm presenting to you the partial works. There's really no point, because in Rise of the Ogre, it details everything about the exorcism, Russel's past, etc. I wrote this story because it was an untold story about two guys who were the best of friends. Soul mates, as Russel put it, which made me feel all warm inside. XD

So, even though now this story has been rendered obsolete, I give you what I nearly finished. Now go buy the book and get the real story. ;)

-------------

"So... You guys are... in me now?"

Taeqwon nodded his head, looking around curiously. "Yeah, an'..." His eyes were drawn away from Russel, watching a bird pass by overhead. "Well, we're inside your brain."

"Surprisingly spacey in here." Vernon managed to joke, smiling weakly. Nobody laughed. A few of them shifted uncomfortably, sitting on the ground. There was no need for seats. The grass was lush beneath their feet, untouched by anything. Russel was the only one who sat on higher ground, a large, jutting rock.

He sighed, scratching the top of his head. "Not just my mind. My soul..." He whispered. A strange look came over his face.

Del stood suddenly, clenching his fists. "Then, we'll make do, wont we?" He looked at the others, and they all soon nodded, one by one. Russel was the only one who seemed to be staring off into space. "Fuck, we can still survive. I've gone through worse. We can make it through this."

Taeqwon grinned, "Hell yeah! We'll take turns hanging out with Russel, I suppose-"

"Since it did make him blank out the first time Del came out," Vernon butted in, getting a smack in the head from Taeqwon. He grunted, slapping at the other. Del sighed, shaking his head, his dreads waving in a non-existent breeze.

"Yeah, we can stay here-"

"How long? How long can you guys keep it up? Death eventually comes to everyone, death..." Russel suddenly asked, his voice low. Anger crossed his face, anger and worriment. "You... you stupid shit, why the hell did you stay?! All of you guys, just make my life harder? Why?"

He jumped off the rock, walking away from the group, and a wide-mouthed Del.

"This conversation is over. I'm going back. Don't bring me back. Just let me sleep."

"Russ, I'm so-"

Russel awoke with a start, with wide eyes wide. He lay there, panting, for a long while. The ghosts of his friends never even got a chance to honor his request; he stayed awake the whole night.

--------------------------

The priest, Father Tulane, made a silent cross over his chest as Russel walked into his room. He growled, sitting down on the chair next to the door. It creaked under his weight.

"How are we going to do this?"

The frail priest ran a hand through his thin hair, sucking in a deep breath of air. He seemed more nervous then Russel, exorcising this ghost. "Well, we need something that's dear to both of you. And we need Del to come out willingly. I..."

"I have somethin'." He grunted, fishing into the pocket of his coat. Out came a picture. He ran a finger over the picture, the one with Del and him as small children. It was yellowed, and had an old bloodstain from the shootout on the corner. '**ME AND DEL 1ST GRADE**' was written in shaky writing on the bottom of the Polaroid. He handed it gingerly to the priest, a hurt look in his eyes.

"Will I get this back, after... after, y'know..."

Father Tulane gave him an apologetic look. "I'm afraid... not." His voice was quiet, and he placed a hand onto the big man's shoulder, pushing him gently forward. Russel stumbled, then walked forward, towards the main hall of the church, priest following close behind.

It was a magnificent church. The roof rose high above their heads, ending in a high arch. Light streamed in from the stained glass, religious pictures splayed in bright color. There were ten rows of long pews, made of old wood. Russel immediately sat down on the front most one, staring at the stained glass. It was ironic, he thought, that such a gruesome picture as Jesus on a cross was put on such a bright, happy looking thing.

"So, how does this work? You should be a pro at exorcism by now," Russel grunted, scratching the top of his head, still staring at the church. "Since you did already banish that demon from my mind, when I was little 'n all..."

"I need Del to come out."

"I, well, unh... he might not want to." Russel said quietly. He would not meet the other man's eyes. "I can't force 'im... I don't got the energy for it."

Father Tulane stared quietly at him, his watery eyes suddenly very powerful. "We must do this, Russel, for the good of you and Del."

Russel gave Father Tulane a queer look before standing and turning around, leaning weakly onto the side of a pew as he faced the heavy church doors. He closed his white eyes, his thick eyebrows knitting together in thought. _'Del, where th' hell-'_

He felt Del move in his body, angrily rocking back and forth. _'W-we... can st-still make this-'_

_'Get the fuck out Del. _NowIt wasn't a request. He wasn't saying, 'Del dear, could you please get the fuck outside my noggin? Thank you so much.' but loud, angry words, the feelings of Russel's exhaustion and anger and sadness all rolled into the words.

Father Tulane's eyes widened as the man turned around, his jaw going slack and his eyes turning to half slits. Something light blue slithered from the back of his head; a thin strand of otherworldly ghost, expanding into Del, the Funkee Homosapian. What was left of him, anyway.

Del was a grotesque sight to see. His clown makeup was washed out and runny down his face. He had about three teeth in his head, all of which seemed to be clumped together in a lonely little cluster near the front of his mouth. His hair was frayed, and even his clothes looked ragged. The ghost's chest heaved, unconsciously in tune with Russel's.

"Al...right? He's... out..." The large man gasped, leaning against a pew. Del looked down, worry creasing his features, and swooped towards the other, propping him up with some struggle. They were both weak.

Father Tulane gaped, then sucked in a deep, shaky breath, running a hand through his thinning brown hair. "Del, you do realize you... need to move on now."

The ghost turned to look at the priest, enlarging his own body a bit and drifting over to him. But a pained gasp from Russel made him hurry back; to make sure his brother was all right.

"You realize that you are hurting more then helping him."

"Shut the f-f-fuck up." His body wavered. Russel gasped again, giving a wounded look at the priest before him. This wasn't a good idea in his eyes-

"You're killing him." The priest's voice became uncharacteristically somber and strong.

"SHUT UP!"

"_Slowly, _you're killing him-"

Both Russel and Del growled, but for different reasons- Russel in pain, and the ghost in annoyance as he sped towards the priest with unearthly speed. He stopped suddenly, a few feet away, a confused look on his face. He pushed his hand against what seemed a solid, but there was nothing there.

"Whut... wh-wh-wh," His voice caught, and his form wavered. The drummer had managed to rest himself into a pew, a pained look on his face. "Whut didja do? Hell, I... can't move through..."

Father Tulane grabbed the ghost's wrist. His hand stuck, and he started to drag the ghost towards the front of the church. A panicked look crossed his face as he tried to tug away, tried to make the priest's hand fall through. But to this man, he seemed solid and unpowerful.

"R-r-russel...?"

"Russel, please move to the front pew."

"Russel!"

The drummer cracked his eyes open halfway, smiling sadly as he stood and moved laboriously to the front. It hurt to move, it hurt to breath; and it hurt especially to watch them. Del was wriggling as much as he could, trying to push the priest off. His form fell through every time he tried to kick the short man, but his wrist was locked into his hand. Pure confusion and turmoil was on his face.

**Author's Note: **I never finished the exorcism. Sorry. (

------------------

The exorcism was over- Del was gone, off to whatever world dead spirits go, claimed by the cold, impassive hands of death. Even though the funky homosapian was at peace, Russel was not. His soul ached, a deep, bruised feeling. He felt as if a piece of himself had been ripped out of him. Torn clean off by some unseeing monster.

It had.

He spent his days sleeping fitfully, waking up screaming and crying. He remembered nothing. Everything was a blur of pain and sorrow, mixed with soft mumbling of the priest and his own past coming back to haunt him. The days went by, and he healed, slowly and painfully, drinking little and eating nothing. He was there. And yet he wasn't. His mind went back into his soul, numbly trying to find a presence that wasn't there, finding only the wind in his hair and his feet in the grass.

Day and night, night and day, sleeping on a small cot, screaming and crying and babbling words from lost conversations. At any given moment, he would whimper Del's name, rocking on the cot, teetering on the brink of insanity.

"Er, um... Noodle! 'Cause we ate noodles tonight, an' that's what he eats."

"I'll kill the god damn Reaper if you ever have to go, Del. So don't sweat it. We'll make it through."

"Del says… he wants me to keep his body away from you guys, so you wont cut it up.."

Father Tulane had given up on the boy. He kept a watchful eye on the large man, trying to feed and give him water at least once a day, and cool his forehead, but nothing prevailed. It had been nearly two weeks since the boy had touched food; and he was not yet dead. It was obvious there was something staving off such a trivial, bodily need for hunger as his mind and soul raged. Every night before he went to his room in the church, he stood before the sweat-drenched drummer, reciting a prayer for him.

The creaking of springs, and the low mumbling of a deep baritone voice awakened him. He grabbed his flashlight, wearing only a flannel as he opened the door slightly and shed the light into the next room.

Russel had woken up. He was standing, shuffling zombie-like for something amongst his desk. Quickly, Father Tulane ran over to him, flicking on a light switch.

"Russel! Russel! You're awa-"

"Paper." His voice was hollow. "Paper 'n pencil..." He turned his head towards the mousy priest, and earned himself a gasp.

"Of course," Father Tulane breathed, and a few minutes later, Russel was seated at his desk, writing words roughly onto paper.

-------------

**Author's Note: ** I was going to have it so that Russel eventually left the church. Ike Turner found him, and from his memories he started to write the songs that would eventually be put away because of the otherworldly memories he still had. They were being put into the songs without his knowledge..

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Russel woke up to the sound of air passing through trees and the feel of cool, fresh grass against his cheek. He lifted his head, looking around curiously, and then standing. He patted down his chest, touching his arms, legs, fingers, and toes. Everything. He then looked around, left, right, then twirling in a full circle.

He was _back_. In his mind. It was just like how it used to be- peaceful and quiet, uncluttered by thoughts. The flowing field of perfect grass, littered with trees. A yard away was the meeting area, where the large rock stood, tall and proud amongst the low grass. A sad smile crossed his face, and he walked quietly towards the old haunt, his stride unfettered by worldly hold. The rock was warm to the touch when he put his hand on it, and he could still see where they had all once signed their names there, a testament of their bond.

"Goodbye, Del..." He whispered softly, blinking a few times. Silent tears were streaming down his face, unnoticed. The wind stirred, and the world around him suddenly darkened. Rain clouds came in, bringing with them fat drops of water that came down, soft and firm. The rain poured steadily as Russel stood there, looking up around him.

The trees were melting away. They were literally falling down, draining, and then the grass. Everything was pouring down, slowly, all around him, until all that was left was the rock and a small patch of grass on which he stood. A sigh escaped him, and he gave the rock a firm pat. "See ya, everyone."

The world _melted_ around him.

He was suddenly back in his bed, his cheek wet from tears. It was the last time Russel ever came back into his soul and mind.

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**Author's Note: **That above is the absolute, final end. ) Alright, everyone, now back to your normal programs…

If you like Gorillaz, Phoenix Wright, Soul Calibur, or Invader Zim, check out some more of my stories. Review, and you get a cookie.


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